Hurl, Ellis, Hurl!

She was dancing by the Charles Bridge when I saw her
so I stopped the car and asked if I could
dance with her. Holding up her palms, she said nothing. I said,
“You too,” and showed her the holes in mine
from pushing knives through hands and watching
them lie still in their dishonor.

We worked nights with the dead, alone,
and they didn’t care about spicing anything up
with music or film or art. They wanted
the meat market and we gave it to get ourselves
back, our own backs cheap and wings nearly free.

Trying to find the courage and the right time
to jump, to fly over Ellis Island, and dive into the sea,
we waited
but the cars just went by.
And no one stopped, scared
that when the time came no one would

stop.

When the time came we vomited out the promises stuffed
–everywhere. And we told ourselves we would be better
better
better.
The sea was full of promises,
sinking, too heavy, dying.

We were promises ourselves.
“Hurl some more!” I told her.
She hurled herself.